


August

by CoffeeFairy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV), RWBY, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeFairy/pseuds/CoffeeFairy
Summary: My takes on the August Writers' Month prompts. Will feature different fandoms and ships, look at chapter titles to find what you're after.Chapter 13: Crowley swings by the bookshop in a new outfit and Azirahphale definitely isn't impressed. Definitely not.Excerpt:“Did you come up with those? Making people pay for things that are already ruined?” Aziraphale gestured to the ripped jeans.“Of course not. Besides, your side came up with the slanket, you can’t point fingers.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Data & Geordi La Forge, Data/Geordi La Forge, Harry Kim/Tom Paris, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper/Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 39
Kudos: 49
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	1. Keith/Shiro, Voltron, Flowershop AU

“Earth to Keith. Earth to Keith. Keith!”

Lance’s voice seemed to be coming from far away growing louder.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at the door for like two minutes now.”

Keith shrugged and turned away from the door. It had closed, signalling by the little brass bell above the door, the exit of the man of Keith’s dreams. A man who, of course, had been there to buy flowers for his date. A date he looked sweetly excited and nervous about. A date that wasn’t with Keith.

Which wasn’t strange as he’d met him for the first time in his life ten minutes ago. 

But how could life be so unfair, showing, _flaunting_ this miracle of its creation in front of Keith just for him to know he was already taken? It was cruel. 

“Was it that guy? You looked all red and weird while he was in here.”

As even a little information was dangerous in Lance's hands, Keith shook his head. Focusing on sweeping up the cuttings from the arrangement he’d pulled together for The Guy, he willed the younger man to leave it. His friend didn’t seem to have any intention to.

“You liked him, didn’t you?” Lance’s eyes lit in glee. “You thought he was hot, wanted those flowers to be for you, huh?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Keith replied curtly.

“Oh, I think you do. I think you wanted to make him the _bestest_ flowers in the whole wide world so that he’d think you were the _coolest_ florist and he’d come back to beg you to-”

The door opened again, and The Guy stepped in. He looked every inch as perfect as Keith’s endocrine system had maintained the second time around. 

“Ah…” He looked awkward, running a hand over the back of his neck.  The smile that broke through the nervous demeanour was small and mischievous, just a hint of understanding behind it. 

The answering one from Keith was immediate.

Behind him, Lance rolled his eyes and slid off the counter to hide from the second hand embarrassment in the rose fridge.

“Something wrong with the flowers?”

The man approached the counter, the smile widening slightly. “Actually, yes.”

He lowered the bouquet down on the counter, pulled the simple white card from them. “I don’t think it’s been addressed properly.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Keith’s stomach sank. It wasn’t him the man was back for after all.

“Here,” he unfolded the card that Keith had printed out carefully from the order sheet online.

_ Would you go out with me on Friday? _

_ Love, Shiro _

“On the front, it should have his name.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see a specification in the order system. I’ll print a new card for you right away. What’s the name to go on the card?”

The man, Shiro, Keith assumed, pointedly dropped his eyes to Keith’s chest. To the name badge pinned to the sturdy green apron.

“Keith. It should say Keith.”


	2. Keith/Shiro, Voltron, Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Sheith, Voltron. Prompt: Quarantine. Keith is stuck in the infirmary with the flu. Shiro visits to hear why Keith landed himself in detention - again - especially since he knows it somehow involved his name... Hurt/comfort, one-sided pre-Sheith, warning is to be safe.
> 
> Excerpt: Keith had never liked Adam. He was too by-the-book, too boring, too uptight, but right now he’d pay to have him back in Shiro’s life. He made Shiro happy and that was all Keith had ever really wanted. And, he provided a buffer, a “no trespassing” sign on Shiro that helped with tempering his wish to reach out, to confess to everything that boiled under his breastbone. Now that buffer was gone and he’d have to watch Shiro, kindly, obliviously, reject him just for who he was, not for who he already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is potentially the first chapter of a longer piece, if I ever get around to it...I still think it works as a stand-alone as well :)

Keith was entering his third day of having the flu and he was ready for death to take him. Not because of the flu, but because of the boredom. Confined to the Infirmary at the Garrison to not “spread those germs around, Mr Kogane”, he was utterly bored. There was a TV but it had two channels and they both showed re-runs. He couldn’t read because he kept distracting himself sniffling and his foggy brain wouldn’t let him study. The only thing that broke the tedium was mealtimes and the food was so bad he might starve before the boredom killed him. At least his quarantine counted towards his detention time.

The door at the end of the room swung open and Keith spotted Shiro. Or, Captain Shirogane as he was whenever other teachers or students were around. Shiro had been the one who got Keith to apply to the Garrison, who encouraged him to try out for the pilot program. The one who’d helped him fill in the scholarship applications and who had to date been the only person in Keith’s life who had never once let him down. 

He was older than Keith by five years and at twenty-two he was the poster boy for what the Garrison wanted to showcase. Ace pilot, squeaky clean record, top grades. In addition he had the looks, the personality and the charisma for a stellar career in the Garrison Forces. If Keith hadn’t loved Shiro from the bottom of his heart, he probably would have hated him. But he knew Shiro cared for nothing but the flying, not really. It was the love of his life and Keith could wholeheartedly understand. Flying, to both of them, was freedom. 

Glad that he for once had a good excuse for the rosy cheeks he developed whenever Shiro was around, he allowed himself to soak in the picture he made. He’d finished for the day but his uniform was as pristine as it always was. He filled it out like he’d been made to wear it, all wide shoulders and narrow hips. It was a chest to waist ratio that sometimes made Keith’s stomach drop and leave a dark, echoing, slippery hollowness of need inside him. Just like his height, the sight of his hands and the soft hair at the nape of his neck did. 

“Hey, Keith.”

Not to mention his voice. 

Keith, who had had enough spare time - and then some - to prepare in case anyone (he’d only hoped Shiro would) visited, held up the legal pad he’d been doodling on. On the page he’d written in capitals:

_ Lost voice, can’t speak. _

“Oh, so the conversation will be just as normal then,” Shiro joked. 

Keith sent him a rude gesture and the older man laughed. It made something soft and squidgy move in his chest to hear it. 

With a sigh, he sat down on the uncomfortable chair next to Keith’s bed, peered at him.

“You look good.” 

Keith knew what that meant but he bent his head over the pad anyway to let his hair shield his warm face. 

“You looked a lot paler last time I saw you.”

Keith frowned in askance. 

“I was here two days ago. You were asleep.”

Oh great. He’d probably slept with his mouth open, drooling on the pillow.

“You look younger when you’re asleep. Less angry.”

_ I’m not angry _ , Keith scribbled. 

Obediently, Shiro read it. 

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why did I hear about you getting into a fight with McClaine in Flight Sims?”

Keith had hoped talk of that particular scene would not make it to Shiro’s ears. 

_ McClaine’s an idiot _ , he wrote. Shiro leaned forward to read it and though he didn’t have his sense of smell, Keith could swear he sensed the scent of laundry powder, after shave and the hint of motor oil and gasoline that came from riding his hoverbike. A smell so familiar to him it haunted his dreams. Including the waking ones.

He could swear he saw a twitch to Shiro’s (unfairly attractive) lips before he leaned back.

“Keith, he’s on your team. You need to find a way to get along. Teamwork is the cornerstone of the Garrison philosophy.”

The Garrison philosphy could fuck itself for all Keith cared, but he didn’t like when Shiro’s voice took on that tone. Not like he was disappointed, or tired of his behaviour but...softly chiding. All Keith wanted was to hear Shiro say good things about him, praise him. Not that he’d ever let the older man know that. 

“Fine,” Shiro sighed lightly when Keith didn’t reply. “What did McClaine do?”

Keith stiffened. There was no way he was telling Shiro. Crossing his arms, he rested back against the pillows.

“I spoke to Captain Parilla about it. He says he heard my name.”

_ Oh, shit.  _

Keith had no issue telling Shiro that McClaine was a bumbling moron who should learn to keep his tongue behind his teeth if he wanted to keep them in that dumb face of his. But he didn’t want to tell him why he’d had to punch him for it this time.

It was common knowledge at the school that Captain Shirogane and his boyfriend were breaking up. In such a small place, gossip was rife and unfortunately this week the hot topic had been the end of the match of two of the teachers. 

Keith had overheard some girl talking about it in the cafeteria, asking her friend excitedly “if she’d heard” and an almost breathless “heard what” had followed. 

“I heard from Maggie whose sister has the late watch that Captain Tremaine and Shiro had a shouting match that ended with them breaking up and Captain Tremaine driving away at like one in the morning. He hasn’t come back yet.”

Keith had stilled but hearing it, he put his tray down and spun on his heel. Unseeingly he turned right and headed down the hallway towards the officers’ quarters. Captain Tremaine, or Adam as Shiro called him, had left Shiro? He knew from Shiro, despite him glossing over the details, that they had been fighting but breaking up? Knowing how seriously his friend took commitment he could only guess how he was feeling now.

He’d gotten as far as Shiro’s door, lifted his hand to knock. Imagined what he might find inside. He hesitated. Why would Shiro want to see him now? What comfort could Keith offer? He was prickly, contrary, awkward. He had to be the last person who could be of any help right now. 

Comfort Shiro?  _ Don’t kid yourself, Kogane, you’re his charity project.  _

With this thought ringing in his head he had walked away. He got to his room and crawled into bed, flinging an arm over his eyes. Shiro was the one going through a breakup, why the hell did he himself have tears in his eyes? Despite the question he knew. He knew that everything inside him for Shiro was a tangled mess.

He might have had dark dreams about Shiro leaving Adam but it had never made him sad. He had just realized he could have Keith and he and the other instructor had parted, amicably. 

He was such a child. 

Shiro would always take a breakup seriously, would think he was the one to fail. The kind of person who would try and keep trying to make the other happy. He would always try his best and when it wasn’t enough it would break his heart. 

Keith rolled over on his side, drawing his knees to his chest. It was aching with what he knew would be killing Shiro. 

It was weaved in with the misery that to Shiro, Keith would never be anything more than a kid. They were friends, but with the years between them it would be a long time before they could even be friends on equal footing. Shiro was his teacher, even if they waited a decade, he would still have been Keith’s teacher. And even if they did, if they waited, if Shiro would eventually see him as an adult or an equal, why would he ever want Keith? He was a skinny, awkward reject with a bad haircut and a worse attitude and Shiro deserved… everything. Better than Keith Kogane could ever be. 

And still his traitorous heart wouldn’t just take the defeat and leave him in peace. It had to light up in hope every time Shiro smiled at him in the way that made the corners of his eyes crease, or when he put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, or when he told him he’d done a good job in that deep voice. It sang, lifted, soared and hoped. 

Keith had never liked Adam. He was too by-the-book, too boring, too uptight, but right now he’d pay to have him back in Shiro’s life. He made Shiro happy and that was all Keith had ever really wanted. And, he provided a buffer, a “no trespassing” sign on Shiro that helped with tempering his wish to reach out, to confess to everything that boiled under his breastbone. Now that buffer was gone and he’d have to watch Shiro, kindly, obliviously, reject him just for who he was, not for who he already had.

Still struggling with the decision if he should go see Shiro or not the day after, he’d been flying in Flight Sims on autopilot when McClaine had to open his big mouth.

“You hear Shiro’s boyfriend broke up with him? And no one’s seen Shiro for days.”

“That’s Captain Shirogane to you,” Keith said quietly.

“Whatever, Kogane. I wonder if Shirogane’s out for the count? He looks all badass but he must be a giant softie if he can’t leave his room for three days after some guy leaves.”

“Lance…” Hunk, the large engineer on their team said, clearly trying to defuse the situation. 

“What Hunk? I’m just saying he might talk tough but really, he’s just a big p-”

Keith flew up, the screen in front of him showing the stars spiralling and an explosion “MISSION FAILURE” flashing in red letters. But he didn’t care. In one move he was up, grabbing McClaine by the collar, hauling him to his feet and pinning him to the wall. 

“Shut the fuck up, McClaine! Just because you blame Captain Shirogane for not making you pilot when your scores are way too low doesn’t mean you can talk shit about him behind his back!”

“Get off me, Kogane, I can say whatever I like!”

“Guys…” Hunk tried to pull them apart but Keith just shook it off. 

“What, you gonna comfort him, Kogane? Hold his hand, dry his tears, tell him everything will get better?”

Keith growled.

Lance’s eyes widened and something gleeful slipped into his gaze.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You wanna bang Shirogane?”

His fist connected with the boy’s goading smile and in a flurry of limbs they fell to the floor, Keith kicking, punching, tearing at the other boy. 

Shiro spoke again, returning him to the present. 

“Why were you fighting, Keith?”

Keith scribbled.

_ McClaine was being a dick. _

Shiro’s eyes gentled in a way that made Keith feel small. 

“Cadet McClaine insulted me, is that it?”

Apparently Keith’s refusal to answer spoke volumes. 

“Keith, I…” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you would stand up for me, whatever McClaine said, but you need to find a way of controlling your temper. Punching someone you don’t agree with is going to cost you something more than detention one day. And I would hate to see that. You have too much talent, Keith, too much going for you.”

Keith hadn’t had a lot of people praising him in his life. He had no idea how to deal with it and he twisted the covers in his hands.

With a sigh, he then reached for the pen.

_ I’ll stop fighting him...if he stops being a dick. _

Shiro chuckled, tenderness creasing the corners of his eyes. 

Damn. Keith couldn’t deal with that look, it made him want to both curl up and bask, and hide under the covers like a child. It made his heart race and his throat slam shut.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Shiro tilted his head. “Lance goads you because he’s jealous.”

It was clear he didn’t need a pad to convey his disbelief in the notion.

“Keith, Lance has wanted to come to the Garrison since he was five. He’s dreamed of being an ace pilot, of being at the top of his class. He’s worked really hard for it. Then he meets you and...you know all these things instinctively that he has had to learn. You fly like you were born to do it, you’re crushing every flying record we have and you do it without looking like you’re even trying.”

_ For you _ , Keith wanted to tell Shiro and was glad his voice wouldn’t let the incriminating words slip out. He only ever cared about impressing Shiro, about making him proud, of...proving himself. Proving Shiro hadn’t been wrong to put his trust in him. 

“You just have everything that Lance wants.”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest, stared hard at the floor on the other side of the bed, away from Shiro and his gentle voice.

“So just think about that before you punch him the next time.”

At this, Keith couldn’t help the twitch of a smile. Shiro did know him really well. He didn’t decree, or order, or use the authority he clearly had over Keith. He just explained, and asked that Keith thought about it. 

To distract himself from the growing tenderness in his throat, Keith lifted his pen. Hesitated. Glanced at Shiro.

“Go on, ask what you want to ask.”

Keith wondered how to phrase it. Then he decided and wrote,

_ How’s Adam? _

Shiro read, a flash of something broken in his eyes.

“You heard, huh?”   
  


Keith nodded. Then waited. He knew Shiro understood what he was really asking. If he’d asked “how are you?” Shiro would have responded “fine” because that’s what he demanded of himself to always be for others. Asking about Adam made it more roundabout, gave Shiro an out if he didn’t want to talk about it but also let him know Keith knew about the breakup. 

A sigh escaped the older man. He rubbed his hands over his face and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Keith kicked himself for getting distracted by how the column of his throat looked, bared and inviting. 

“I...I don’t think he’s doing so well.”

Keith nodded, kept fiddling with the covers. 

“It’s hard,” Shiro continued and Keith couldn’t believe he was trusted to hear this. He swore to himself whatever Shiro told him, he’d take to his grave. “He’s not...wrong, or not completely wrong but I…”

Searching his memory he tried to make sense of this as an argument he could have heard about. He couldn’t think of anything. Apparently Shiro realized too, and backtracked.

“There’s a new mission. I can’t talk about it, really, but it’s deep space, Keith. Real flying, for months.”

Fear for missing Shiro like he would miss a limb twisted the joy he felt for him. Decisively he strangled the sensation. It was Shiro’s dream. 

“And it’s...it’s my last chance. With my health, this will be the last opportunity for me to ever go into space.”

He knew that too. Knew the unfairness of Shiro’s life, the one part of his physical form that wasn’t perfect. The disease that lay dormant under his skin, that would one day rob him of all the things that made him a legendary pilot. 

“Adam...Adam thinks I’m foolish. That I should stay back, not take any chances. Settle for a shorter mission, something easier.”

Every line of Shiro’s face and shoulders screamed out his pain. Keith reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. The older man’s head dropped. His shoulder shook under his fingers and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Shiro, hold him, tell him he deserved better, deserved everything. 

One handed, he managed to write.

Shiro, hearing the pen against the paper, looked up. He hadn’t been crying but his eyes were glassy.

_ You need to go _

_ It’s your dream _

A shudder travelled through him. Gratitude seeped into his eyes and Keith’s throat started squeezing shut.

“Thanks, Keith.”

He took his hand and squeezed.


	3. Data&Geordi LaForge/ Daforge, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Geordi LaForge meets Data for the first time and realizes he might believe in magic after all. 
> 
> Today I rolled a die to decide on what ship to write and ended up with one of my previously never published for ships - Daforge. Science fiction wasn't my first choice for today's prompt, magic, but I think I like how it ended up...This takes place early on so it can be read as pre-romance or not, up to you what you see but my shipper heart definitely sees what it wants to.

Geordi LaForge did not believe in magic. He was an engineer, a practical realist. But when he watched the computer sequencing in front of him, he found he might have to start believing. 

The android officer had boarded just a few days ago and he had intrigued Geordi from the start. In appearance he looked like a human, apparently based on his creator in minute detail. Except for the glow around him, the shape was like any of the humanoid males registering through his VISOR. But Geordi could easily pick him out of a crowd thanks to the glow. It was a warm, pulsating, gentle undulating of light, waving around him at all times. An aura, was the best description he could come up with. 

He spoke with an endearing exactness and had displayed a distinct personality from the start. Data, as he was known, was more than Geordi could have ever imagined technology could achieve. He was curious, caring, compassionate, humble and in many ways more human than humans.

The first day he had arrived, Geordi had watched him, a little starstruck, as he entered the Captain’s Ready Room. He’d read about Dr Soong’s android, had downloaded his specifications to his PADD and read it in growing awe. The android was a staggering feat of engineering, a mind-reeling achievement of programming, and yet, when Geordi had met him, he’d somehow turned out to be even more. 

Later in the day, after his shift, he’d been in Ten Forward, going over Data’s specifications in the Starfleet records on his PADD again. The android had entered, looking around. Had he been human, Geordi would have guessed he was nervous, hesitating in the doorway of a new place full of new people. Then he’d entered, and steered for Geordi.

“I understand this is the recreational area of this ship, for personnel off-duty.” He enunciated each word carefully.

“It’s one of them,” Geordi agreed with a nod.

“This is where the crew socializes?”

“For the most part. We kind of socialize all over, in quarters, in corridors, on the Bridge as we leave, in the elevator.”

“But this is the designated area for this activity?”

Delighted with the preciseness of the android wanting a certain space to be the only space for socializing, Geordi smiled. “That’s right.”

“Then I have reached my destination. I posited it would be advantageous to meet my colleagues in a less formal setting to promote the best professional relationship possible.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“My name is Data, I will be serving as Enterprise’s second officer.”

“I’m Geordi, conn officer.”

“It is nice to meet you, Geordi.”

“And you, Data. Would you like a drink?” He nodded across the bar.

“I am an android, Geordi, I do not eat or drink.”

“I know, but I wasn’t sure so I thought I’d offer.”

“That is...considerate of you. Thank you.”

“No worries. So, I don’t want to be rude, but would you mind if I asked you about this sequence in your positronic net?”

A week later, Data had graciously agreed to Geordi’s request to watch him function on a screen. Connected to a conn, Geordi had watched as the screen came to life, Data’s “brain” working in front of him.

And now, he might have to start believing in magic. Because while the numbers running in front of him were elegant, and the programming eloquent in its functional efficiency, it was what lay beyond that fascinated Geodi. What was scrolling on the conn added up to more than the logical sum of its parts. Somehow, through accident or design, Dr Soong had done more than create artificial life of astounding computational power. On the screen he saw Data’s processing power but in his being, Geordi saw what he already knew beyond a doubt existed. Data’s soul. A shimmering, ineffable, unspoken and unheard of quality that made him into who he was, which led his decisions and guided his mind. Data was a machine with a soul.

There had to be magic in the world.


	4. Tom/Harry, Star Trek: Voyager, Long distance relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Harry get put in opposite shifts and find out that three decks sometimes can feel as far as seventy-five thousand lightyears. Set sometime during season 2.
> 
> Excerpt: The next thing he’d known was the ensign at the transporter conn clearing her throat. Pulling away he’d found himself and Tom in the same position they’d been in, huddled together, kissing desperately but instead of being surrounded by the disintegrating shuttle, they were sitting on the transporter pad. The Captain had looked harried, hair not as neat as normal, but she had relaxed and even afforded them an amused eyebrow raise. 
> 
> “I’d say as you were, gentlemen, but I think we’d all be happy to get out of this nebula.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rolled a five on the die today, that means P/K!

“Hey, Harry.” 

Harry’s combadge beeped for a private channel and Tom’s voice spoke at a murmur, only loud enough for him to hear.

Everyone was allowed to use private channel communication on the Bridge, but not loud enough to disturb others. As he was at his Ops conn, it wouldn’t bother anyone so he muttered,

“Hey,” in reply.

“Do you want pizza or steak for dinner? I can’t make up my mind.”

“I don’t trust you to replicate steak so I’m voting pizza.”

“Hey, not fair. Didn’t I replicate a great dinner last time?”

“It was tomato soup.  _ Plain  _ tomato soup.”

“Well,  _ excuse me _ , Mr Cordon Bleu,” Tom chuckled over the line. “Me and my insulted pride will go and make the pizza now.”

“I’ll see you after gamma shift ends. I’ll cheer you and your insulted pride up.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tom’s voice dropped to a purr. “Will you come back and-”

“Bye,” Harry interrupted and ended the call. However amusing his boyfriend would find it, he wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his shift turned on by whatever suggestion Tom had been about to make. 

Smiling at the prospect of heading to Tom’s quarters after his shift, he started another scan of the area. 

They’d only been together a few months, everything still sparkling and wondrous. The change from friendship to romantically involved had been easier than Harry had anticipated. They were still great friends, but now he was allowed to act on the impulse when he wanted to reach out for Tom, run his hand through his hair, kiss him. All the things that had been driving him crazy before, the wish to get closer always ringing in his head, had quietened now that he knew he could follow its lead. 

It had taken almost dying of exposure in a disintegrating shuttle but the feelings it turned out both of them had held back had risen to the surface, the thought of dying with Tom never knowing how loved he was impossible for Harry to even contemplate. The moment, stark in his memory flashed in his mind. The blood on Tom’s face, so bright in the otherwise monochrome world, his eyes shining with fear, regret, and somehow through it all, determination and hope. His surprise, then wonder and awe as Harry tried to get the last oxygen to last for the words he had to say. In the cold impending vacuum he hadn’t heard the first time Tom said he loved him too, but he’d seen his lips form the words. Their lips had met an instant later, Harry prepared for it to be the last thing he ever knew.

The next thing he’d known was the ensign at the transporter conn clearing her throat. Pulling away he’d found himself and Tom in the same position they’d been in, huddled together, kissing desperately but instead of being surrounded by the disintegrating shuttle, they were sitting on the transporter pad. The Captain had looked harried, hair not as neat as normal, but she had relaxed and even afforded them an amused eyebrow raise. 

“I’d say as you were, gentlemen, but I think we’d all be happy to get out of this nebula.”

It had made their relationship public from the moment it had started but any fear Harry may have felt at this prospect had faded quickly. Thomas Eugene Paris, it turned out, was an excellent boyfriend. Attentive, focused, loving, with the edge of fun and the unexpected he had always represented in Harry’s life. 

A light flashing on his conn caught his attention.

“Captain, I’m reading a tachyon disturbance seventy-five lightyears away and it’s-”

The impact was sudden, shuddering through the hull. The Captain, eyes steely and voice cool ordered red alert. Harry bid farewell to the pizza with Tom.

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


Sometimes three decks could feel as far as seventy-five thousand lightyears. Janeway was trying out new shift configurations in an attempt to iron out the last vestiges of the two crews of Voyager feeling like two. Always championing her “one ship, one crew” policy, she was moving everyone around from their usual rotations to promote “increased understanding”. While Tom approved of the idea in theory, he wasn’t happy he and Harry had ended up on opposite shifts. The little time he managed to see his boyfriend he was either falling asleep or getting up. The fact that he often found him in bed surely had its advantages but he missed just being with him. Hell, he even missed working with him. Hearing that deep voice in its professional mode, coolly assessing and analyzing, stating facts and numbers with the ease of a more experienced officer. You had to have got it bad when you found someone’s work voice sexy. 

Still, Tom would take any abuse his younger (stupider) self would heap on him for acting like a lovelorn fourteen-year-old if he could see him now. That Tom had never known what was good for him anyway. Older (wiser) Tom did and he knew beyond a doubt he’d never do better than Harry Kim. 

It had been surprising to find himself falling so quickly for someone he’d just met, he’d assumed himself too old and cynical for it. But it hadn’t taken Harry more than a few hours to disabuse him of that notion. Harry believed the best of people, and not because he was naive, but because he wanted to. He was handsome, funny and smarter than anyone gave him credit for. So was it any wonder?

Smiling to himself, Tom adjusted the course minutely. He didn’t have to, they’d earn three minutes on their journey time of seventy-five years but it pleased him to fly to the best of his ability. He figured the difference between a pilot who flew and one who cruised on the straight stretches was in the details. 

On his conn, the private messaging function beeped. Opening the side panel he saw Harry reminding him they’d agreed to meet in Sandrine’s at eight. Tom knew Harry was going to stay awake for about an hour before his early start would catch up to him. Still, it was an hour he’d get to see him, conscious and talking. Tapping the message to acknowledge the receipt, he heard the Security officer at the conn Tom thought of as Tuvok’s, inform Janeway of some unusual readings. Posed to change course at her order, he waited for it. The Captain didn’t miss opportunities to explore unknown phenomena. Then his conn flashed, crackled and died. An instant later it began spouting numbers and figures at him that made no sense. Behind him he heard from the others all conns on the Bridge had experienced the same malfunction. Grimly, he looked up to the viewscreen to do his best to fly blind with only the unknown stars to guide him.

There was no way he’d ever make it to Sandrine’s by eight.

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


After three weeks, Tom and Harry asked for a private word with the Captain. It was easily granted and they explained that while they weren’t asking for special treatment, the new schedule was preventing them from seeing each other, in effect putting them in a long distance relationship on a vessel smaller than what could be classified a village. Janeway had narrowed her eyes, explained no one could be seen getting preferential hours. They had both volunteered for the unpopular night cycle shift.

“No, no need. I actually would like to return to some of the old configurations. And,” she consulted her PADD, “you’re both back to Bridge duty as of next week, on the alpha shift. That said,” she interrupted their congratulatory glance. “As Bridge officers we...we have a duty to the rest of the ship. We can never let our personal lives get in the way of our work. When we work, we’re present. I can’t allow any...change in circumstances, or outside influence affect your work, and if I see that it is, then this shift rotation may well change.”

“Yes, Captain,” the chorused. 

“Very well, dismissed.”

At the door she stopped them with a raised hand. “Tom...Harry, I...As your Captain I’ve told you the rules for fraternization, as Starfleet insists on calling it. But I want you to know that…” she looked out towards the windows to the right, to the stars sweeping by, discovered for the first time by human eyes, to be left behind the next moment. “That I am very happy for you. Where we are, what we are living through, it’s...it’s good to have someone to share it with. Someone who is going through the same.”

With the Captain’s well wishes they left her to stare at her PADDs, chewing at her bottom lip, a far-seeing look in her eye. One or two of their colleagues afforded them a curious glance as they passed through the Bridge after exiting the Captain’s Ready Room. Most focused on the task they had at hand.

In the elevator Tom’s hand found Harry’s. 

“So, now that we have the Captain’s blessing and everything...how about that pizza?”


	5. Keith/Shiro, Voltron, Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slav asks Shiro to explain what a soulmate is. Shiro knows more on the topic than he'd like to admit. AU, set sometime after season 7 in a world where season 8 doesn't exist.
> 
> Excerpt:   
> “So what then is a soul...mate?”
> 
> “Oh wow. Ah…” Shiro ran a hand through his hair. “The ancient humans believed that at creation, a person’s soul was split in two, and placed in two different people. The two parts   
> would then spend their lives looking for the other half, and only feel complete when they found them.”
> 
> “The chances of finding them would be in one in ten billion. Or one in whatever the current population of your planet. Worse, if you consider that your soulmate could be in an alternative reality.”
> 
> “The odds for it were always really slim. But it’s a pervasive human belief.”
> 
> “So humans believe there is only one person out there for them to find to feel complete?”
> 
> “Some do.”
> 
> “Do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had not one, or two, but three ideas for this chapter. This one won in the name of time constraints - short is the order of the day :D Hopefully the other options may materialise as something longer down the line...

They had decided to land the Atlas for a break. Everyone could stretch their legs, and they could cook over a fire. It had put everyone in a good mood, even Slav was smiling a little. 

“Shiro.” The scientist prompted for his attention. “I have been reading data regarding human culture and Earth on the Atlas. I am wondering, what is a soul?”

Shiro blanched. “That’s a pretty big question, Slav. I don’t think I’m the best person to answer, maybe ask Dr Holt, or…”

“I’d like to know what you think it is.”

“Ah…” What was a soul? How did you describe it? “It’s a...a part of humans, that you can’t see, or touch, or measure.”

“A metaphysical body part, I see. Has any theories been formed around what it could appear like?”

“No, no, it’s not something that...See, when we die, many believe that the soul leave the body.”

“So it is driven by the biochemistry of the human organs,” Slav nodded to himself.

“No, it’s...It’s not an entity, or a body part, it’s...it’s something that makes you into you. It’s the...guiding light for your conscience, your mind.”

“It’s...your consciousness?”

“No, it’s more ineffable than that, it’s... _you_. Whatever it is that makes you _you_.”

“The collective experience of your life in conjunction with your genetic predisposition. That’s why we all turn out different in the alternate realities.”

“Well, our souls are something that aren’t the same in different realities. Because we aren’t the same.”

“So what then is a soul...mate?”

“Oh wow. Ah…” Shiro ran a hand through his hair. “The ancient humans believed that at creation, a person’s soul was split in two, and placed in two different people. The two parts would then spend their lives looking for the other half, and only feel complete when they found them.”

“The chances of finding them would be in one in ten billion. Or one in whatever the current population of your planet. Worse, if you consider that your soulmate could be in an alternative reality.”

“The odds for it were always really slim. But it’s a pervasive human belief.”

“So humans believe there is only one person out there for them to find to feel complete?”   


  
“Some do.”

“Do you?”

“I…” He grimaced. “I guess.”

“Then how do you believe it would feel if you did find your soulmate?”

Shiro chuckled. “Who knows? But I don’t think it’d be through love at first sight, fireworks and violins swelling in the background. I think it’s...I think you could only truly know it’s your soulmate if you really know them. If you’ve taken the time to build something with them.”

His eyes trailed across to where Keith was sitting, silently staring into the flames of the campfire.

“It’s someone who’s more important to you than anyone else. Someone who makes you feel like you’re at home, wherever you are. Someone you know would be there for you, no matter what. And maybe you don’t realize these things right away, they build up so slowly that one day you realize you have all of this inside you that you hadn’t noticed was growing. So it's not really like finding them, but more realizing that you have found them. Maybe that’s why you don’t admit it, or say something, because if you do, it’ll be real, and they’ll know. The person will know and they can tell you that what you feel isn’t enough, that you aren’t enough. So you have found the missing part of your soul but it’s not the part that’s missing from theirs. Maybe souls are less like two halves, and more like jigsaw pieces. Not all of them fit together.”

“Well, that disproves the entire theory then. There should only be two! If there are more than two, the odds are beyond astronomical!” Bending at the waist the scientist continued muttering to himself as he drew calculations with a stick in the sand under their feet. As far as Shiro could tell he was working out the odds for finding soulmates if there was more than one possible option.

Sighing, he glanced back at Keith. He wished the odds hadn’t been stacked astronomically against him in the one case he cared about. He hadn’t told Slav, but he’d known for years he had already found his soulmate. It was a sweetened kind of torture to have the certainty, have him near, only to know any mention to it he’d ever make would be rebuffed. Because while Keith recognized the closeness, to him it was familial, not romantic. He saw Shiro as a brother, a mentor, and that would be all he could ever be to him. 

He was too busy staring at Keith to notice Krolia watching him. She had clearly overheard the conversation, her eyes following Shiro’s line of sight. Now her eyes, so similar to her son’s, were narrowed in consideration. A small smile was playing around her lips.

“Shiro, do you have a minute? I could use your help with something.”


	6. Ruby Lucas/Archie Hopper, Once Upon a Time, Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby Lucas goes for a run that is interrupted by the cutest puppy ever. And his owner is no slouch either.
> 
> Excerpt:  
> Ruby Lucas ran. Her grandmother liked to tell the story – when they were on good terms – of how Ruby had learned to run before she could walk. “Always in such a hurry,” Mrs Lucas would chuckle. And it was true, Ruby had always been in a hurry. She had been in a hurry to grow up, in a hurry to leave, in a hurry to live, to experience life to its fullest. Now she ran to feel less stuck in place. While her grandmother was too old to take care of her businesses alone, she had to help. That meant putting all those shimmering, glittering dreams on a shelf for now. Like snowglobes they sat in rows in her mind, ready to be taken down and shaken in her mind’s eye so she could imagine a day when they were her reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put on the Red Cricket hat again! It's been a while, but it's still a comfortable fit :D

Ruby Lucas ran. Her grandmother liked to tell the story – when they were on good terms – of how Ruby had learned to run before she could walk. “Always in such a hurry,” Mrs Lucas would chuckle. And it was true, Ruby had always been in a hurry. She had been in a hurry to grow up, in a hurry to leave, in a hurry to live, to experience life to its fullest. Now she ran to feel less stuck in place. While her grandmother was too old to take care of her businesses alone, she had to help. That meant putting all those shimmering, glittering dreams on a shelf for now. Like snowglobes they sat in rows in her mind, ready to be taken down and shaken in her mind’s eye so she could imagine a day when they were her reality.

Anything, from exotic places to a simple walk on her own someplace where no one knew her, it all had a place in her private treasure collection. And until the day when she could make them real, she ran. Ran to stifle the feeling of being hemmed in, caged, locked up. Ran to quieten the ever louder voices in her head telling her to run, and keep running and never come back. She ran for the sleep it allowed her at night, the quiet it afforded her in her head. For the feeling of tired muscles and for a job well done.

In the early evening the light was starting to fade, giving way to a pearlescent light between sunset and night, the last rays of the sun hidden behind clouds but still able to lend a silvery tinge to the blanket above. No moon or stars today, but the air was blistering in the cold, the wind a hollow ache. In minutes it’d be dark, the streetlights above on the pier punching damp yellow holes in the dusk. But until then, the world was monochrome and silent, the cold and the dark keeping everyone else inside.

Ruby loved it.

Only the sound of her feet on the packet sand, her heartbeat in her ears and the ever-rolling pulse of the sea next to her were heard. No voices, no gulls, no calls. Just her.

She’d had time to finish the thought when something light flashed by her. In the next second the light had wound between her feet and avoiding stepping on something soft, she fell. Rolling over, something wet touched her face and the next second she realized she’d tripped over a puppy. Delight and worry washed over her as she tried to ascertain if the puppy was okay. It was making yipping sounds, tail wagging so she breathed a sigh of relief.

On closer inspection it was a Dalmatian puppy, young enough to still have loping movements and paws too big for its body. It seemed as delighted with her and was trying to bathe her face with kisses. Stroking soft ears, she laughed and managed to sit up.

“Are you all right? I’m so sorry, he managed to pull off the lead and then he spotted you and he’s still learning not everyone wants to say hello to him and I saw how he just rushed in front and you fell, and are you okay?”

She looked up as a deep but breathless voice addressed her. The man was still hurrying towards them, dressed in tweeds and a Barbour jacket, tie blown over his shoulder in his rush to reach them. A red leash was dangling from his hand.

“I’m fine. I’m glad I didn’t actually trip over him.”

“Still, I am so sorry. Let me help you up.” He held out a hand and taking it, Ruby felt herself pulled to her feet. The puppy continued to weave around her feet.

Standing up, she noticed the man had really nice eyes, blue and currently filled with concern. His hair was wind-blown and something that had to have been a dimple when he was younger added an attractive boyishness to his looks despite him being much too old to be classified a boy.

“Thanks,” she replied, and sounded a little more out of breath than her run would have made her. “I am fine, I promise.”

His eyes searched hers and for a moment she felt like he’d seen more than her smiling assurance she was okay. As if he could look into her soul.

Silly.

“I’m glad. And I still do apologize for Pongo.”

“Pongo?” She raised an eyebrow.

The man smiled, a little sheepishly, and the boyish impression strengthened. “A young client of mine named him. He maintained you couldn’t have “a Pongo” and not name him “Pongo”.”

Ruby laughed. “Sound logic,” she nodded.

“I thought so. So yeah, Pongo is learning but aside from “sit” we haven’t gotten very far.”

At the word, Pongo looked up from his scrambling search for interesting smells around their feet to gaze adoringly at the man, waggle his tail so his entire backside almost tipped him over, and then plop his butt down, almost shaking in his delight at knowing what to do. “Look, look, I did it!” his entire being seemed to announce.

Ruby couldn’t resist and sank to her knees to pat him and praise him for his endeavour. Pongo responded by climbing all over her lap with his four dirty paws.

“So if this is Pongo, what’s his dad’s name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man replied, looking at her a little dazed, as if she’d startled him from a daydream. “I’m Archie. Archie Hopper.”

“Ruby,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you. And Pongo.”

“Likewise, Ruby. And I think it’s safe to say I speak for both of us.”

Allowing him to help her to her feet again, she let go of his hand with a strange stitch of regret this time.

“I work at the Diner in town, you and Pongo should come by one day. I hear there is sometimes a leftover sausage or two after the breakfast rush.”

His cheeks went pink, or she’d only just noticed that the wind had whipped the colour out in them.

“Ah…I’m not much for sausage.”

Laughing, Ruby shook her head. “I meant for Pongo. As you can read, I’ll allow you anything you like from the menu.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be appearing at my best today.”

She tilted her head with a smile that had turned stronger men than Archie Hopper to butter. “Oh, I think you’re doing just fine.”


	7. Data&Geordi LaForge/ Daforge, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise passes through a tachyon irregularity that affects Geordi's eyes and starts regenerating the cells in his eyes. At the prospect of his life changing irrevocably, he could use a little support. Luckily his best friend doesn't have to be human to know how to make him feel better. Can be read as Pre-Daforge or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am catching up today so I apologise that I haven't found out the name of the episode this refers to. I started writing it after watching it, but did I make a note of what it was? Of course not, that'd be much too helpful to Future Me...

Geordi tried to focus, all of his attention needed purely to stay upright as paid spiked through his temples. Like sharp ice it nailed through bones and paralysed him. Sensing Data’s arm under his, strong enough to support most of his weight this way, he called for a medical emergency. 

“It’s...okay. Just give me a hand to MedBay, will you?”

“Geordi, I do not believe it is advisable for you to move. The med team will be here shortly.”

“Data, I…” A wave of pain shocked him and he doubled over. The android’s arm circled around his back to keep him upright. Fisting a handful of the commander’s uniform he hissed, “Get me out of here. I don’t want my team to...to see me like this.”

“Geordi, you are in pain, the engineering team will hardly-”

“Data, please. Help me out of here.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Very well.”

About to hoist him up off his feet, Geordi protested.

“Just help me to the door. Walking.”

It felt like an eternity and he had his team’s worried eyes on him the whole way. Data was thankfully not giving any indication that he was basically supporting all of Geordi’s weight.

“Return to your duties. I will see to Commander LaForge,” the android instructed. 

The door whooshed closed as his team returned to their duties.The moment it closed he sagged against Data, no longer able to keep himself upright. It had taken all his will to not collapse in main engineering.

“Would you please allow me to get you to Med Bay now?”

He managed a nod and in the next instant he’d been pulled up into the android’s arms.

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s...bad. Something’s wrong. It’s painful and I...there are lights flashing?”

“Do not worry. We are almost at the Med Bay.”

“Are people..staring at me...getting carried around like some princess from a fairy tale?” He managed a weak chuckle.

“People are regarding you with concern, not amusement, Geordi.”

“Small blessings.”

The next wave of pain crashed over him and stole the air from his lungs. Consciousness slipped from him like sand through a closed fist.

Data arrived with Geordi in his arms just as Doctor Crusher was about to leave for engineering. 

“Data! Why did you bring him?”

“He insisted,” the android replied simply. He stepped in and Crusher directed him to a bed to put the unconscious Chief Engineer on.

“What happened?”

“As the tachyon pulse increased, Geordi was beset by severe pains. He stated he had a headache “like ice picks to his eyes”. I called for you but Geordi insisted he did not want to appear incapacitated in front of his team. So I escorted him here.”

He stepped back and Crusher began running her tricorder in even movements around Geordi.

“If you have duties, we are fine here, Data.”

“I would prefer to stay if that is all right.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


When Geordi woke the pain had subsided from a raging, shrieking tear to a duller, pulsing one. Without his VISOR the dark was still impenetrable but it was somehow moving, vibrating. 

Crusher had just told him that his vision was improving. Drastically. 

Geordi had been told by many physicians over the years that he would soon be able to see. When he was younger it was something he had hoped for but as he grew older, he realized that having sight would change who he was. His world as he knew it would suddenly be different and he would have to adapt in whole new ways. Considering it, after another disappointing procedure failed to produce a response, he had decided he didn’t want to spend his life trying to change himself. 

He’d been fifteen then, and since, he hadn’t wished himself to be different.

  
  


“Thanks, Beverly.” 

She squeezed his arm, knowing he wasn’t thanking her for the random spike in tachyon particles that had led to the change, but for telling him the truth. She was well-aware Geordi wasn’t longing for change. 

“Data is here as well, would you like me to let him in to see you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

A few moments later he heard the door open and close, then the android’s touch on his arm. Gerdi had only mentioned it to Data once that he felt lost without his VISOR and that touch reassured him of the other person’s presence in relation to his. The android, unlike humans, had never forgotten. 

“Hello, Geordi.”

“Hi Data.” He turned his head towards where his voice sounded. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“In a way. It’s a less sharp pain. Where are we?”

Once more Data knew he wasn’t asking for the response “in Med Bay” but for help identifying and visualising his surroundings so he could picture where he was. He felt safer with at lleast an idea of his surroundings. 

“We’re out of the emergency room in MedBay, in one of the recuperation rooms. Number 3, the closest one to the outer deck four corridor. Your bed is facing away from the window and the room is four foot by seven. A nightstand with an alarm button is on your right and I am on your left.”

Geordi relaxed slightly. He’d never been into the recuperation rooms himself but he knew where they were and calling a blueprint of the ship to his mind’s eye he plotted the outline of the room. 

“Thanks, Data.”

“You are welcome. Would it be all right if I stayed with you for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re not on shift?”

“No. It is 22:53 and I am on duty again at 10:00.”

“You don’t have to stay, if you have...things to do.”

“Geordi, do you not want me to stay?” He didn’t see or hear it, but he knew Data had tilted his head as he was wont to do when processing at a higher speed. As he did when attempting to parse human emotions.

“No, no, I’d like it if you would but...Do you want to?”

“Of course. When someone is unwell it is customary for friends and family to visit and keep them company.”

“That’s true.”

“And we’re friends.”

Geordi smiled. Many of his colleagues may not understand it, but he knew it was the truth.“Yes, we are. You’re my best friend, Data.”

“I am honored to be considered such by you.” Data took his hand, the grip warm and comforting. 

“That’s all right, buddy,” Geordi mumbled.

“I also know being without your VISOR makes you uncomfortable. If you wish, I will stay until you fall asleep.”

Data couldn’t laugh at him, couldn’t find him childish for it. He couldn’t consider him weak or less for feeling adrift and uncertain when he didn’t have his VISOR on.

“I...That would be...Thanks, Data.”

“You are welcome once more. I will get a chair. One moment.”

Something scraped over the floor, then Data’s hand returned over his.

“I am this far from you, on the left.” He put Geordi’s hand to his shoulder so he could feel the distance. About two feet. A bit higher up, but not a lot as the bed’s top end was raised.

It was ironic that Data, who possessed no natural empathy, only what he’d been programmed to, could understand better than anyone on the ship what to say and do to make Geordi feel at ease. Without making him feel different or awkward in any way, he still responded to his needs and never forgot. 

Geordi had once asked him if he had support functions built in, like a medical robotic assistant but Data had just shaken his head. He said he’d once, just after they’d met, tried to envision what blindness would be like. He’d turned off his visionary input, parts of his spatial awareness, the ship’s layout and locked all functions for five minutes. After, he’d stated that while he couldn’t be emotionally uncomfortable he had found it disorienting, frustrating and difficult on a purely practical level. He’d added he had nothing but the greatest respect for Geordi for managing and understanding for him not caring for being without his VISOR.

To actually go to the length of trying to be blind was more than any of his other friends had ever done for him, and Data had done it after a casual conversation with a colleague. 

“Dr Crusher said you are regaining your sight due to the temporal distortion regenerating the cells in your eyes.”

“That’s what she says.”

“You do not sound as if you believe her?”

“I…” He shifted in bed a little. “I don’t doubt her skills or her knowledge, it’s just that I...I’ve heard it before. Doctors have been telling me all my life they’ve found something now, something life changing and that it’s going to give me my sight back. But I haven’t wished for that for years. While I don’t necessarily like being without my VISOR, having it is how I want to see. It’s how...It’s how _ I  _ see, and if that changes, I believe that I would change too.”

“I believe I understand. It is akin to my wish to experience emotion, however it would irrevocably change my understanding of the world.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“I see. But the outside forces are regenerating the cells regardless of our intervention.”

“I know,” Geordi sighed. “I am hoping it will wear off as we pass the area.”

“And if it does not?”

“I have learned from many hospitals and examination rooms that patience and not taking the worst case out in advance is the best way to deal with change.”

“I would venture that is a wise approach.”

Geordi realized Data’s hand was still wrapped around his on the bed. It was comforting. His presence, the slight body heat coming off his, the sounds of his breaths in the dark, all enforced the sense of his being in the room. Despite not requiring any of those apparent biological functions like humans did, he still needed them - to control the heat around his processing core and maintain an optimal operating temperature. It also made humans around him more comfortable that he was warm, breathed and blinked.

“Data, would you...would you keep your hand there until I fall asleep?”

It might not be a request a grown man made of his friend often but Geordi couldn’t help it. If his life was about to change, he needed a little more than patience today.

“As you wish. Is it helping you?”

“Yes. It...anchors me in the room. Makes me feel less...isolated.”

“Then I am glad.”

Dr Crusher had to have given him something to make him sleep when she was in as tiredness rolled in, sudden and heavy.

“Oh, and Data…”

“Yes?”

“Could you file what I’ve said to you and asked you for under private settings?”

“Of course. One moment. I have removed them from the accessible memory cores.”

“Thank you.”

Data squeezed his hand in response and it was the last thing he was aware of before falling asleep.


	8. Keith/Shiro, Voltron, Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance throws a party to celebrate that he and his roommates are going to be friends - for infinity. At the party, Keith meets destiny. Or as he introduces himself, Shiro.
> 
> Excerpt: “Ta-da!” Lance stepped back and revealed the decorated room behind him.
> 
> Keith tilted his head. “The theme of the party is...eight? Eight what? Why?”
> 
> Pidge peered around Keith to see. “Did you realize it’s your age in emotional maturity and decided celebrating reaching it?”
> 
> “It’s not eight, it’s infinity. We’re celebrating we’re going to be friends for infinity!”
> 
> Keith grimaced and shrugged, Pidge made a gagging noise and Hunk shushed them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very loosely based on the New Girl dynamic but not close enough to call it an AU.

“Ta-da!” Lance stepped back and revealed the decorated room behind him.

Keith tilted his head. “The theme of the party is...eight? Eight what? Why?”

Pidge peered around Keith to see. “Did you realize it’s your age in emotional maturity and decided celebrating reaching it?”

“It’s not eight, it’s  _ infinity _ . We’re celebrating we’re going to be friends for infinity!”

Keith grimaced and shrugged, Pidge made a gagging noise and Hunk shushed them both. 

“Guys, Lance has worked really hard on this party.”

“God knows why,” Keith muttered under his breath and Hunk elbowed him. “Yeah, yeah. There’s beer, right?”

Walking into the apartment he had to fight his way through streamers, balloons and even past a pinata. Behind him he heard Pidge point out that at least half the balloons said “Happy Eighth Birthday!” on the backs. Lance shot back all the balloons were tilted ninety degrees, which _clearly_ made the eight into an infinity sign.

Going about tapping the keg, he realized with a shock that they had all lived in this loft for eight years. Moving in right out of high school, the building deep enough into a sketchy enough area that he could afford it, he and Lance had spent the first days emptying it of the previous tenants’ rubbish. Once it looked presentable - essentially bare, but not the drug den it had clearly once been - they’d posted an ad for the two spare rooms. Pidge had arrived, narrowing her eyes at the print out in her hand. She’d believed the apartment was shared by women. Not that it mattered to her, she stated, as long as everyone left her alone to study. Hunk had seen the open plan kitchen and promised muffins on the spot. Lance had shaken his hand, welcoming him to the apartment. 

And that was...eight years ago. The apartment had changed over the years. It had furniture, for one. Adding to it through donations, or a purchase when someone had some cash to spare. Keith had bought the coffee table because he refused to use a tray balanced on his knees to eat in front of the tv. Lance had replaced the couch at some point because the first one - inherited from Pidge’s grandmother - was ugly as sin, covered in large roses and wearing some kind of furniture skirt with bows on it. Hunk had picked up appliances on Gumtree, installing them one by one himself. Keith had used the printer at work to blow up some large scale pieces he’d done. The joking picture he’d drawn for Lance for his 21st birthday of them all as superheroes held pride of place. 

He hadn’t really thought about it but they’d all changed, just as the apartment had. Lance, his one and only friend from high school, still loud and animated, but instead of the messy haired loudmouth he’d been, he was now a tidy, suit-wearing marketer. Hunk, who’d finished his degree in mechanical engineering, had worked in the field for three years before pursuing his real passion - cooking. His own restaurant had just celebrated its second birthday. Pidge, still the same height as when she moved in, to her chagrin, had finished her PhD in astrophysics and found her place at the Observatory where her father and brother worked. She’d taped “Dr.” in front of the K. Holt on the door to mark the occasion. 

Though if he was comparing, the one who’d changed the most was possibly himself. 

Leaving high school he’d never imagined he’d want to go to university, or that he’d ever know what he’d want to do. It was Lance, who had drunkenly filled in his application to art school, attaching blurry cellphone pictures of what Keith deemed his “doodles”. Lance who had pushed him out the door to the interview to “just see what it’s about”. Now, Keith had just heard from his publisher his comic book, Voltron: Legendary Defender, had been renewed for another run, with more zeroes attached than Keith had ever dreamed he would make from his art. In truth, he didn’t think any of them needed to live together for financial reasons anymore. But there had been a time when his part-time job and scholarship money didn’t stretch to everything a month would need, when the other three had quietly “made too much food” or “felt like overpaying on gas this month - I did have a few long showers”. Just as he had when Lance had been between jobs, when Pidge didn’t have enough time to work in the last two months before her PhD was due, when Hunk had struggled to make ends meet at his new restaurant. 

Sipping his beer, he woke from the reverie to realize people were arriving. He recognized a few of Lance’s work friends, some of the people from the Observatory, Pidge’s brother, staff from Hunk’s restaurant. 

Lance came beelining over.

“Keith, Allura is here! She came!”

As his friend was in love at least twice a month, Keith just hummed.

“ _Allura_ , Keith! The woman who owns the model agency we give a lot of business to.”

Memories of this particular woman being a recurrent topic of Lance’s he obediently looked to where Lance was indicating. A tall, slim blonde was talking to Matt - who looked like he’d never finished Standing Like A Human Being 101. Awkwardly hunched, he laughed entirely too loudly at something the woman had said. 

“I need you to talk me up to her if you speak - nothing big, you know, how I’m a model employee, earn three figures, drive a Range Rover, and that from what you can tell through my bedroom door I can make a woman have an out-of-body-experience.”

“If she’s with you in bed, she’ll wish she was out of her body,” Keith joked automatically.

“Keith, focus!” Lance tugged at his shirt to stare into his eyes. “She’s the most beautiful woman on the planet, she’s smart and she’s funny. She came to this party and I have a chance to make this work.”

Sighing lightly, Keith put his beer down. “Lance.” He put his hand to his shoulder. “Remember that none of what you listed me to say matters. You’re a good guy, you take care of your friends, even when they don’t want you to. You’ve been my mom, my partner and my friend for years. You don’t need to brag about whatever car you drive if you could just believe that the people who love you love you for you, and not for being cool, or suave or whatever epitaph it is you’re always pursuing. Just go _talk_ to her and be yourself.”

Lance blinked rapidly. 

“Don’t cry, man. If you do, I take it all back.” 

Lance kept blinking, sniffles starting.

“Stop it. I’ll tell Allura you’ve got syphilis if you cry.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” The tears sank away and Keith breathed a sigh of relief. “Besides, first I need you to distract Allura’s date.”

“She brought a date?”

“She brought some guy who looks like he models. They’re probably just colleagues.” Lance’s voice was high pitched with his own disbelief. “In any case, it shouldn’t be a hardship for you to talk to him, just don’t drool on him too visibly. I don’t want Allura to think my friends have no class. Even if they don’t.”

“Hey, watch it. Remember I can tell anyone, at any point, you sing Backstreet Boys in the shower.”

“They have an underrated emotional intelligence in their songs!”

Keith snorted, “As if “I Want It That Way” isn’t about a breakfast egg order.”

Lance drew a deep breath, about to go on a tirade. Then he deflated, narrowed his eyes. “Later. We’re doing that later. Now I am going to talk to Allura, because the guy is coming over here for a drink. Distract him for as long as you can!” Lance hissed the last bit under his breath and slipped away. Keith shook his head. Parts of Lance were certainly not older than the eight years Pidge had claimed.

“Hey, could I get a beer?”

Keith turned around and choked on his beer. There could be no doubt that this was the date Lance had described because he looked like an underwear model - however sadly clothed at the minute. Parts of him punched through Keith’s nervous system like lightning flashes, splayed across his retinas in shining technicolor. Wide shoulders, biceps coiling out of a t-shirt as a gift to mankind, narrow hips showing off jeans to their best advantage, a jaw that could cut glass at an angle that made Keith’s mouth go dry with its wish to latch on like a barnacle to a ship and never let go. Dark hair, soft and shining, stubble that made Keith’s stomach clench, and eyes that edged somewhere between silver and mercury.

“Ah…”

He had to take another moment for the speech to get turned into coherency in his head through the interference of his hormones screaming “Gimme, gimme, gimme”.

“Of course. Beer. Sure.”

Standing behind the kitchen island laden with drinks, next to the keg, he realized he looked like he was there to serve drinks. Setting his own cup down he pulled a fresh one from the stack and poured. Bracing himself to turn his eyes back on the god standing in his kitchen, he turned back. 

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. I’m Shiro.”

“Keith.” 

Keith saw that one of the sideways eight balloons hovered behind Shiro like a halo. Suddenly it did look like the sign of infinity. 


	9. Tom/Harry, Star Trek: Voyager, Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom visits Harry in Sick Bay when he has a cold. Harry has some pretty interesting things to say under the influence of a high fever and Tom decides visiting hours should be extended.

Tom Paris strolled into the MedBay, a box under his arm and a PADD in his hand. 

“Mr Paris? You’re not on shift again until tomorrow,” the EMH stated, looking up from his conn. “I will assume, based on previous experience, you are not here to volunteer extra hours.”

“‘Fraid not, Doc. I’m just here to cheer Harry up.”

“Mr Paris, visiting hours are over, as you are well aware. Please return between the hours of-”

“I misspoke. I’m here to volunteer. I am volunteering to keep Ensign Kim company.”

The Doctor looked as if he might argue but just sighed instead. “Very well. I am retiring for the night. Turn down the lights when you leave. Computer, deactivate the EMH.”

He blinked out of view. Tom grinned, the Doctor as always amusing him at the times he wasn’t driving him up the wall. With a shake of his head, he steered for the bio beds to the right. Harry was out of the examination one, recuperating alone. Luckily Tom’s “volunteering” would only include passing the time with his friend, no other patients occupying the other beds.

Harry looked uneasy, even in sleep, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He was pale and a small frown came and went like clouds over his brow. Tom wished this would take away from his normal reaction but it was just as always upon seeing Harry. Faster heartbeat, a quick drop of his stomach, like he’d just hit 0G, a tickle in his throat like a laugh that had gotten caught. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, but no. Even after seeing Harry every day for the last three years, it still chased a thrill through him when he entered his field of vision. 

It always had, from the first time he’d seen him, at a bar on Deep Space 9. He’d looked younger then, shiny and untouched like his brand new comm badge. Dark hair, dark eyes, wide shoulders and handsome features had ensured he’d had Tom’s attention from the moment he entered the bar. It had felt like everything inside him had stood to attention, listening and waiting with bated breath. A creature in his chest had tilted his head, scented the air in trepidation. Something was changing. 

He hadn’t known it then but it hadn’t just been something, it had been everything. Harry had changed everything Tom had thought to be true. About Starfleet, about its officers, about life, about people in general. He didn’t relish thinking about where he’d be right now if it hadn’t been for Voyager but more importantly, who he’d be now if it weren’t for Harry. 

Tearing his eyes from the familiar face, he plopped down on a chair next to the bio bed. Kicking his feet up, he settled with his PADD. Every once in a while he’d look up, let his gaze travel over Harry’s face, listen for his breath. Once or twice he got up to raise the bed slightly, to adjust the blanket, to give him a hypo for breathing easier. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he arrived when Harry stirred but the lights in the Sick Bay had dimmed themselves according to the ship’s internal time. 

On the bed, the Ensign moved, sighed. Blinking, he looked around groggily. Dark gaze landing on Tom, he got to his feet.

“Tom?” he croaked.

“Hey, Har. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I was put through the recycler. What time is it?” His voice sounded like it had been sanded down to its bare components.

“After midnight. Want some water?”

Harry nodded and Tom got a glass from the pitcher. Sliding his hand under Harry’s neck to help him he tilted the glass. Harry managed a few small sips. 

“What...what are you doing here so late? You’re on shift tomorrow.”

“Thought I’d check in. I brought you something but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Tom, you shouldn’t-” Whatever the admonishment was going to be was cut off as Harry started coughing.

“I’m old enough to decide my own bed time, thanks.” He reached behind him for the box he’d brought. “Here you are.”

Harry blinked the tears from coughing out of his eyes and eyed the box. “Nothing’s going to jump out of there, right? Or make a noise or something?”

“It’s not a joke box, I promise. Geez, you scare a guy once.”

“Twice.” But Harry pulled the box close, opening it gently. Inside were a cylindrical container, and a bag of something.

“Hot honey water with ginger and a side of cough drops. Grandmother Paris’ cold treatment.”

“Grandmother Paris, huh?” Harry looked up with a smile. It made Tom’s heart trip and miss a beat. 

“Can’t argue with it.”

Obligingly, Harry twisted the top of the bottle and drank. “It tastes nice. For medicine.”

“It’s no hypospray but sometimes old tricks are the best.”

“Thanks. You know you really don’t have to stay, Tom. I’m probably just going to go back to sleep in a minute.”

“I’ll just stick around and make sure the medicine is working. Besides, I brought a book on my PADD I think you’ll really enjoy.”

“I shudder to think what you’ve brought, Paris.”

Tom grinned and sank back down on the chair. “Oh, it’s a classic. “Desert Passion” by Lavinia DeLautre.”

“Tom…” 

“No, no, don’t thank me yet. Now, be quiet. Chapter one. _The day was hot. The sweltering heat made Amelia’s light, gauzy dress stick to her, almost transparent in places. She could tell from the darkened gazes directed at her the men of the village were transfixed by her unveiled beauty. She straightened her proud posture and ignored them, her heart beating hard in her well-endowed chest._ Not bad, huh? Those twentieth century authors knew what they were on about.”

“I will _pay_ you to stop reading it right now.”

“It’s an antique! A literary classic, published in 1993, Harry. _1993_.”

“A week’s rations if you shut up.”

“No way. I flicked through it earlier and there are quivering loins and grabbing of sweat-dewed flesh coming up. Can’t live with the suspense.”

“ _Two_ weeks.”

“ _Amelia knew her father had come this way two weeks ago but her search so far had come up with nothing. She was a stranger in a strange land and…_ ”

Tom read, enjoying the poor writing, the ludicrous metaphors and the far-fetched plot. He enjoyed Harry’s exclamations of disgust and chuckles more. After chapter four, Harry fell asleep again and settling into the chair, Tom put the PADD down. Trying to settle as well as he could, he felt the sleep edge in.

He had no idea what the time was when a noise woke him. 

“Tom!”

Sitting straight up, he turned to Harry who was tangled in the blanket, his hair plastered to his forehead. 

“I’m here, Harry, what is it? Do you want some water?”

“Tom…”

Getting to his feet to lean over the younger man in the half-light, he saw Harry’s eyes were hazy.

“What do you need?”

A giggle escaped Harry and Tom frowned. He’d never heard Harry _giggle_.

“You.”

“I’m right here, Har.”

“No, closer. I always want you closer,” he sighed.

Heat chased down Tom’s spine and his throat grew as dry as the sand in Amelia’s non-geographically-existent desert.

“Ah…”

“But I like this. This is good.” Harry’s hands travelled from Tom’s hands where they rested on the bed, up his arms, his shoulders to cradle his face.

“Harry?”

Harry didn’t seem entirely aware Tom was speaking. He was mumbling, voice a murmur. “So pretty.” His voice cleared a bit. “You’re always so pretty. I could stare at you all day and not get tired of it.”

His fingers wound in Tom’s hair and his brain cells all mutineed at once.

“I…”

“When I don’t see you, I miss your face. I miss the rest of you too.”

“Harry, what...what is this? Are you making fun of me?”

“You’re funny.” He laughed. “Always so funny. You make me laugh even when I don’t think I want to. I love that.”

He sighed lightly. “I love you.”

Tom froze in place, everything inside him lighting up and burning. The words he’d longed so long to hear were falling out of Harry like water, a current sweeping him along, pulling him under. 

Below him, Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, the hold on his hair tightening as Harry leaned up, lips searching. Helpless to move even if he’d wanted to, he could only watch it happen as if in a dream. When Harry’s lips met his, the emotions crashing through him was the current cresting. Like a towering wave it razed everything from around it, suspending it weightlessly, before racing down, the weight of the moment splintering under its own momentum. It roared in his ears, swept his feet out from under him, pulled the breath from his lungs. 

Then reality picked up again, the light graze of lips against his returning him to the present. He pulled back, disappointment freezing the heat that had been there and instant ago. 

“Harry, you’re burning up.”

Moving around the bed he found the chart, checked the last time the Doctor had administered anything. Long enough ago he could have another dose. 

Harry fell back on the bed, grumbling under his breath. 

Tom loaded the spray with shaking hands. Taking a steadying breath, he administered it. Putting a hand to Harry’s forehead, he felt some of the heat slowly fade. The fever was breaking.

Sitting down again, he sighed, rubbed his face. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry spoke from the bed. 

“It’s okay, Harry. You didn’t know what you were saying.”

It was quiet for a moment. “I did. I mean, I didn’t mean to say it, but I knew what I was saying.”

Shock left him silent as he turned his wide eyes on Harry. He was sitting in the bed, pulling at the blanket, staring down at his lap. “I didn’t want you to find out, and especially not this way. I’m sorry.”

“You...you meant it?”

“It doesn’t have to make anything weird! We can just...pretend it didn’t happen.”

The laughter was sudden and surprising as he got to his feet. “Oh, I don’t think so. Harry, I love you too.”

“I...You...You do?”

“More than Amelia loves the Sheik,” Tom smiled. 

Harry laughed, and quickly it turned into a cough.

Leaning down, Harry turned away. “Don’t, you’ll get sick.”

Tom turned his face by his jaw. “You know, I really, really don’t care right now. I’d take worse than a cold to kiss you, Harry Kim.”

  
  


o.O.o

  
  


The EMH returned to duty at eight am sharp. The first thing he saw was that Mr Paris and Mr Kim were in the same bio bed, squeezed in like sardines in a box. The next was that the display over their heads - smart enough to recognise two bodies - showed both occupants were running light fevers.

“Really. There is a reason we have visiting hours.”


	10. Ineffable husbands, Good Omens, Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn’t care for Aziraphale’s taste in music but he does care about Az…Nothing. He cares about nothing and no one. Absolute truth. 100%.
> 
> Excerpt: Aziraphale looked up for a moment, the song having set something wistful and yearning in his eyes, meeting Crowley’s unguardedly. The demon’s heart skipped like a record needle losing traction, skittering in his chest, stuttering over the sounds, reality losing touch. While the smooth males’ voices began crooning again, the angel’s eyes closed once more and Crowley gulped down wine, turning away from the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this is for Day 13...Maybe I'll catch up, maybe I won't. I'm telling myself it's supposed to be for fun.
> 
> Man, I want a new hobby XD

1968

“I know I said you should update your taste in music from Bach but what in Hell’s name is this twaddle?” Crowley asked as he sank down into the plush armchair, his limbs spread like he was more liquid than solid.

“Buddy Holly. Delightful man.” Aziraphale moved his head back and forth with the beat, the cheery chorus of “Oh Boy” spreading from the record player. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his face. 

The demon made a derisive noise and pushed himself to his feet. Swaggering to the record stand he flipped through them, his lips curling.

“The Righteous Brothers? The Drifters? Ruby Murray?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. “Oh! Let’s listen to Unchained Melody!”

“Absolutely not. Where’s The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, The Who?”

“Hmm? Who?”

“No, no, _The_ Who. The band.”

“I don’t know, why are you asking me?”

“I’m not asking you, it’s the name of the band. _The Who_.”

The blonde blinked, a small frown forming. “But…”

“Of for…I’ll translate for you, angel,” Crowley sneered. “They’re using the definite marker “the” before a relative pronoun to indicate the appellation of the group.” The demon looked like he’d eaten something unpleasant and then gulped back more wine. 

Aziraphale’s face cleared and softened. “I see.”

“Stop looking at me like that, I just rephrased what I’d just said.”

The angel tilted his head. “Yes, but in a way you knew I would understand. Not everyone has the empathy to be able to translate themselves so efficiently to others. It takes a great deal of considerati-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, angel,” the demon hissed, an accusatory finger pointed at him while the rest remained wrapped around his glass. Wine sloshed precariously close to the rim.

The angel pulled primly at his linen slacks to prevent the fabric creasing where he sat. “Still.” He cleared his throat gently. “In any event, those don’t sound like very nice bands.”

“They’re not, that’s the whole point. They make…real music.” Crowley gestured with his full wine glass. The Bordeaux swirled in response and almost splashed onto the carpet. The angel was still sober enough to wince at the prospect and carefully he miracled a stack of books out of harm’s way on the floor to the overloaded desk. “It’s…visceral, primal…Instinct, rather than this orchestrated…drivel.”

Snapping his fingers, the record magically changed to play the soft piano intro to Unchained Melody. “Drivel? I find it rather beautiful.”

Crowley snorted. “You would.” 

Noticing the angel’s closed eyes, Crowley’s features softened as he watched him hum quietly under his breath. A little beatific smile played on Aziraphale’s lips and his fingers strummed against his knee. A quiet sigh escaped him and the demon soundlessly moved back to the record player. When the song began to fade, he lifted the needle back to the start of the track. Aziraphale looked up for a moment, the song having set something wistful and yearning in his eyes, meeting Crowley’s unguardedly. The demon’s heart skipped like a record needle losing traction, skittering in his chest, stuttering over the sounds, reality losing touch. While the smooth males’ voices began crooning again, the angel’s eyes closed once more and Crowley gulped down wine, turning away from the sight. 


	11. Cloqwork, RWBY, De-aging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow and Ozpin take a long overdue moment to talk. Set during Volume 5, after they reach the safe house in Mistral.
> 
> Excerpt: Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now…it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m lucky that this ship basically provided answer to “de-aging” prompt in canon. Still, please note there will be no Oscar/Qrow because I find it squicky. Any romance mention is when Ozpin is in the driver’s seat, and only with Oscar’s consent.

Love, in Qrow Branwen’s opinion, was the shittiest hand fate could deal you. And his cards had been dealt a long time ago. On a normal day it wasn’t something he’d thought about a lot. He had sex, and lots of it. He had people he liked, people he wanted. But in love? He’d been in love with the same man since before his seventeenth birthday. It was just one of those facts of life, like how hangovers sucked and your flask was sometimes empty. No use crying about it.

That was before he’d had that love. Like a door had been thrown open his life had suddenly been cast into vivid colours, full of sensations he hadn’t even known he’d been missing. He had tasted the crescendo of passion, where all was fire, hot and urgent. He’d known the gentle, the slow and the intimate. The bond born from sleeping next to someone, night after night, sharing breakfast, moving around another’s space as they both readied for the day ahead. He had felt the fear - like nothing he had ever known before - the fear of losing it all, only lessened when he had seen him. A restlessness inside only soothed by his presence. 

Fourteen years of marvels. Fourteen years of his safe haven. Fourteen years of joy, of fear, of sensing a bond that was invisible, yet stronger than steel. 

Then he’d known loss. Unmoored and floundering, his anchorage ripped away, leaving him alone in the storm. Only his responsibilities had kept him from going under. He’d had them to his nieces, to his brother in law. To him. He had to carry on his work now. 

Now he had a shadow. The man he loved lived on, in mind, in the head of a boy young enough to be his son. The voice he knew better than his own, coming from the slight chest of a teenager. Whether it was his semblance - could there be worse luck than falling for someone who was only ever living on borrowed time - or Ozpin’s curse didn’t really matter - he just knew those words from long ago were true. _Where you seek comfort you will find only pain_. They had sought, and found it, in each other, and now that meant only pain. 

“Hey.”

He turned around in the kitchen to see Oscar behind him.

“Pipsqueak.”

“He..” Oscar’s green eyes slid away over the floorboards. “He would like to talk to you.”

They both knew who “he” was. 

“Fine, go ahead.”

“No,” the boy’s ears’ reddened. “Not here. In private.”

Qrow’s throat drew shut. He wasn’t ready for this. 

“Maybe he…We…should leave that for now. It…” he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It can’t be easy for you to hear that…stuff.”

The boy seemed to listen to what was in his head for a moment.

“He says the same. He doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable, but I’m fine.” He squared his narrow shoulders. “There’s…There’s a lot he wants to say and it makes me feel…strange. I’d…I’d rather you talk.”

Qrow gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as if he knew they could carry on interminably without ever acknowledging the love of his life was dead, but his mind lived on inside another. To acknowledge the sliver that was left was more painful than it would have been to let Oz go completely.   
  
“Fine.”

He picked up his glass, thankfully full, and headed for what had ended up his room. Habit ensured it was positioned to keep an eye out both ways, as well as being within earshot of all his young charges at once. Oscar trailed after.

Entering the sparse room, he sank down to sit on the bed, knocking back a healthy gulp of the whiskey. The teen stopped inside the door, fidgeted, then sat on the rickety chair in the corner. Putting his hands on his lap, he drew a deep breath.

“Kid, you really don’t have to put yourself through this. It’s weird enough for you right now.”

Oscar shook his head. “No, I…I’d like to. I can sense he wants to talk to you.”

Qrow sighed, rubbed his hands over his face. “Fine. Go ahead.”

For a moment all was quiet. 

“I’m here.” That voice. That deep, well-modulated voice that had haunted his dreams since he was basically Oscar’s age. It drove a blade into his chest to hear it every time. His body reacted to it on instinct and he squashed the confusing impulse to reach out. 

“What is it?”

It freaked him out to see how the kid’s posture straightened, how his body language became so familiar, yet in the body of another it was nothing but cruel mockery to him.

“I thought…We…We haven’t had time to speak alone since the bar and…”

Qrow remembered the bar well enough. 

He remembered how the pipsqueak had appeared, how Ozpin had taken over once he had his cane back. He’d managed to stop himself from hugging the boy and completely freak him out. But the voice was there, the normally slow cadence hurried.

The memory of it played in his head like it had numerous times before, a broken record stuck on one track, unable to move on. Like he was.

“I don’t have much time, Qrow, Oscar still can’t maintain a connection so you can hear it for very long. We need to get to the academy in Mistral, now.”

“The school?”

“Oscar will explain but before that I…” the boy who barely reached his chest stepped forward and for a moment his hand fluttered like he was reaching for him. Then he let it fall. But Qrow could see the intention, the same one he had.

“Gods, Oz, this is…I…”

The boy’s eyes began blinking faster, Ozpin’s voice breaking when he said “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” 

But the eyes watching him held none of the experience they’d had a moment ago. Qrow swallowed, again and again. His eyes were hot and he noticed now his hands were shaking at his sides.

The large green eyes below him were wider than before, and under his tan a blush rose.

“Ah…He…he heard you.”

Awkwardly he took a step back to widen the distance between them. After all, despite everything, they were strangers. And inside him lived the man that meant more to Qrow than life itself.

Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now…it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

“We haven’t,” Qrow agreed, his mind returning to the present. 

“Oscar’s control is improving so we should have at least a few minutes.”

Desperation clawed in his chest. “To what, Ozpin? What can we do?” He pushed to his feet, swiping an arm over his eyes. He knew Oscar was still there, still aware of everything that was happening. “This is…Gods, this is worse than losing you was. To…hear you, to know you’re there and still…It’s not you. It’s…it’s worse than cruel.”

He could see Oz almost turning in on himself, visibly feeling the same as he did. But with a deep breath he spoke with the same careful control as usual. The control he’d only ever let slip around Qrow. 

“I know. I know it is. And I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I caused this. I never meant to get involved with anyone in this lifetime, I know it only leads to pain in the end but I…” The green eyes weren’t the colour of firewarmed whiskey but the expression in them were the same.

“Don’t you dare.” Qrow hissed, suddenly close. “Don’t you dare regret it.”

“Of course I don’t regret what we had. I regret this,” he waved a hand in an elegant gesture that cleaved Qrow’s heart in two. “What…what my weakness has cost you.” His head bent over the hands balanced once more on his cane. 

“Your weakness?” Qrow kneeled in front of him so he could see his eyes. “Do you mean…dying?”

“In a way. It would have been kinder of me to never…”

He had to physically check himself from leaning in to touch. To wrap his arms around the waist of the boy who wasn’t the man he loved.

“No. No, it wouldn’t. I loved you, Oz. I always would, whether you loved me back or not. I always will. The only thing you caused me this way is that for a few years, I was happier than I ever thought possible.”

Oscar’s hands clenched around the cane, lifted to touch him the way Qrow had loved, those long elegant fingers trailing through his hair. Then it stopped, fell. There were lines they wouldn’t cross. 

For a moment Oz’s focus flickered, then a small, humourless smile curled his lips. A smile much too weary for a boy whose face it appeared on.

“He says I can touch your shoulder.” Qrow’s head snapped up. “He can sense I want to touch you.”

Slowly, as if not to spook a frightened animal, the small, calloused and tan hand that had nothing in common with Ozpin’s except its intention, reached for him where he kneeled. The hand was small and warm, touching him with the familiarity of years. 

“I love you.” Qrow closed his eyes, bent his head. Just for a moment, he wanted to believe the man he loved was really there. “I wish I could be with you, more than anything. But know I love you, always.” 

Qrow’s breaths caught and the tears he hadn’t allowed himself spilled over. Hot and painful they ran down his cheeks as his chest struggled to keep up under the force of them. He sensed rather than saw that Ozpin kneeled on the floor in front of him. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, as if to imprint the sensation of it. “I love you.”

The responding words couldn’t make it past the tears as he cried himself dry. 

When he finally looked up, he saw the tear streaked face of the boy in front of him. 

“Oz?”

The boy sniffled, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

“No, it’s me.” The voice was once more that of a young boy. “It’s just…” his breath caught a few times. “He’s so sad. He tries to shield me, I can tell, but what slips through, it’s…” The tears had made the dark lashes spiky and his brow wrinkled in earnestness. “It’s huge. He loves you a lot. I’ve…” He looked away, blushing slightly. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Qrow chuckled dryly despite everything. Sat back so the boy’s hand slipped from his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re young.” He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the remains of tears. “You’ll find someone.”

“Never!” The vehemence surprised him.

“What?”

“I’ve seen this. It’s like you said, it’s…worse than cruel. You have to…know he’s in here but…” the boy gestured to his head. “But he’s not really…real, anymore. Is he?”

“No.” Qrow pulled his legs up. His forgotten glass on the nightstand was half full and he downed it. In a moment he’d go and find the rest of the bottle.

Oscar didn’t make a move to get up the floor, just sat back too. For a long time they just sat like that. When he spoke again, Oscar’s voice was hoarse.

“Do…Do you regret it? Loving him?”

Qrow slanted a humourless smile. “There’s no point in regretting Fate, kid. Loving Ozpin was a done deal for me, a long time ago.”

“But do you?”

“No. No, I could never regret finding out what loving someone like I love Oz is like. However much it hurts, however much I want to rage and scream at Fate, at the Gods, even at Ozpin, I…I’d never take it back.”

“It still sounds…awful.” 

Qrow got to his feet, only slightly wobbly. On his way out the room, he ruffled Oscar’s hair. “That’s love, pipsqueak.”


	12. Cloqwork, RWBY, Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12: Qrow and Ozpin in the stillness after the storm. Set during Volume 6, episode 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is set during THAT episode, the one that *hit* the ship like an iceberg. Look at me making angst that shows they STILL love each other after that XD

All he had was the ghost of him. The memories he denied himself, the body was long gone. All that remained was the voice. The voice that spoke from the mouth of another. He couldn’t bear hearing it, knowing that was all that was left. He couldn’t reach out and shake him, scream at him. Couldn’t reach out and kiss him, or touch him. Couldn’t tighten his fingers in his hair the way that made the other man’s breath hitch, his head falling back. Offering himself. It had humbled him once, the most powerful man in Remnant, giving himself to him freely. An outcast. A nobody. 

He’d given his all to be worthy of the trust placed in him. Now he knew that had all been for show. His sacrifices were all for naught.

Pushing to his feet, he noted absently he was shaking. 

All their sacrifices had been for nothing. _Summer_. Summer had given her life and for what? The hopeless schemings of an old man. A tired charade, a play acted out by willing puppets to no end. And now, the puppet master had disappeared, hiding away in shame, leaving them to flounder.

His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle. Standing in the doorway to the room, he saw the sleeping teens. Closest to the fire lay the boy who harboured the ghost of Ozma. Of Ozpin. A wave was building inside him, he could feel everything pulling back, building, rising. It was towering over him and one day soon, it would wash over him, draw him under, drown him. He turned away, sitting back down on the chair again. Taking a deep pull from the bottle he waited for the blessed numbness. An ache in him that couldn’t be soothed by anything but unconsciousness flared and tightened.

He had known from the start it had been doomed. Between Ozpin’s curse and his Semblance, there had never been any odds in their favour. He had accepted that the man he loved could only be borrowed, never wholly his. He paid for the privilege of the loan in blood, in sweat, in tears. It had all been worth it for as long as Ozpin had waited for him to come back. Had been there to soothe the hurt, wash away the filth. He had been so certain then, so certain of his place, of his mission, of his love. He carried the secrets, shouldered the burdens, spoke the lies and it was all easy. All easy for the man who owned him, body, soul, and mind. But not even the sliver of the man he had been allowed had been honest with him. He had hidden that for every fight Qrow fought for him, for every wound he took, for every lie he told, nothing was gained. He sent him out, again and again, to perform for him like a puppet on a string. For nothing more than his amusement, to soothe his conscience about a mistake made long, long before Qrow was even born. 

It was ironic really. His life had been given purpose, through the mission and through his feelings for Ozpin. All he had ever wanted - for his life to matter - had been made into a joke. The most elaborate lie he’d ever been told. His life had been a lie. Ozpin had made him into what he had always turned out to be. A failure. A clueless, floundering, blind drunk. His sister had been right.

_His sister had been right._

It was like finding out the world wasn’t round. That night wasn’t dark and the sky wasn’t blue. The ground lost its hold under his feet, water wasn’t wet, fire didn’t burn. Everything he had built his world on had crumbled. Crumbled and burned so he recognized nothing around him anymore, couldn’t tell where he was. Lost. Worse. Lost, with no idea what he was even meant to look for. No light could guide him out of the ruins, no yarn to follow back to the beginning offered.

Stumbling in the blackness, he couldn’t tell where he ended and the dark began. It was moving in him, around him, blinding him to anything but the disorientating feeling of being wrong. Everything was wrong.

Without him, everything was wrong.

o.O.o

Oscar Pine was still asleep when his body sat up in a fluid motion. In his dreams he was home, watching the lambs playing in the south field. The presence in his mind received no solace from the boy being unconscious and it had been lying in wait, listening. Now, as if by a sixth sense, the presence roused the boy, and he got to his feet. His eyes were open but they recorded nothing of the other people sleeping on the floor, or the old woman in the chair. Stepping gingerly between them, led by something more intricate than instinct but deeper than consciousness, he reached the hall. Stopping in the doorway, he peered out with unseeing eyes. Through them the presence saw all he did.

A tall man, older than the ones on the floor in the next room, was sitting in a chair by the window. His head was resting against the wall and a bottle hung precariously from his hand. Uneasily asleep, shadows chased over the man’s features. Inside Oscar Pine, the presence fought for control, sighing in relief when his senses were completely returned to him. Ozpin now. Or, the mind that had held Ozpin, as well as his predecessors. None of the older voices were there right now, knowing the moment he needed was one where he was alone. 

His eyes trailed over the features of the man by the window. The moonlight poured in and illuminated the sharp angles and edges of it. Inside the body of a boy, the love of a man rose in a tidal wave. Just like a wave it was staggering, beautiful, elemental - and dangerous. It would raze everything in its path, currents dragging greedy fingers through the deep. As it always had. Ozpin had fought against it, had fought to steel his heart and leaden his feelings for as long as he was able. But in the end this man had broken down every part of the wall he’d built. As if he’d torn it down brick by brick, he’d been left unable to defend himself any longer. Not when defeat tasted so sweet. 

The man on the chair had bled for him, protected him. He had stayed by his side, constant as a shadow. Over and over Ozpin had resolved to leave him behind while it was still in his power to. Again and again he had failed. His life wasn’t his, he had less than nothing to give, less than nothing to offer. And yet he had yielded. 

Memories of the eyes behind flickering eyelids burnt in his mind. Dark red like dying embers, they could render him powerless with a look. He could recall their shade in every facet of feeling. Burning in determination, flaring in lust, glinting in humour, smoldering in lust. 

The man turned his head and his hair fell over his forehead. At the boy’s side his fingers twitched. Muscle memory stronger than death itself reacted to brush the strands back. The sensation of it, the ashen streaks through raven black, called to his skin. Short, stubby fingers curled into fists, the whole small frame shaking. His breaths quaked, sobs that wanted to break through forced down and away.

He had done this to himself. 

Shaking the head that wasn’t his, briskly brushing the one tear that had escaped his hold away he winced when he accidentally touched the bruise on his cheek. Guilt tarred the edges of his sorrow. He should have blocked that punch. Qrow had expected him to, had never seen him allow such an obvious hit. Oz had trained him better than that. He should have shielded Oscar’s body from it. But in the moment he had forgotten all about Oscar, about anything that wasn’t the look of betrayal in Qrow’s eyes. Grimacing at the bruise he frowned. It only served to show he was, and continued to be a fool. An old fool, but a fool all the same. Love weren’t for the likes of him, and for several lifetimes his predecessors had managed to stay clear of it. But not him. Weak-minded fool that he was he hadn’t been able to shield himself from all that Qrow woke in him. And now the man that he loved, the man he’d wanted to protect above all, was paying the price. The price for Ozpin’s weakness. 

To no one who could hear, Ozpin spoke in his own voice. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small, short, too few to hold all he wanted them to convey. But it was all he had to offer. As always, it hadn’t been near enough what Qrow deserved. 

In the chair, the man slept on, the bottle slipping from limp fingers. 

The man in the body of a boy turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so angsty, I know, I apologise, but the writer in me couldn't resist THAT PREMISE. If you see this episode through an Ozqrow lense it gets even more heartbreaking and I wanted to play in the sandbox of whump.


	13. Ineffable husbands, Good Omens, History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley swings by the bookshop in a new outfit and Azirahphale definitely isn't impressed. Definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided as 2020 went March, April, August, months are more like a state of mind anyway. In my head, it's still August. Therefore I can still work on this challenge when the mood strikes!

Aziraphale looked up as his best friend the demon slinked into the bookshop. “What happened to your trousers? Are you all right?”

Crowley looked down. “Nothing happened to them. They look just like when I left the house this morning.”

  
“They’re all ripped!”

“Oh, that.” He swaggered past the other man, into the shop. “They’re meant to be.”

“They’re...How can they be meant to be? They’re broken.”

The demon splayed his arms out and turned in his snakeskin boots. “Some things are made to be broken.” It didn’t come out quite as casually as he’d have liked and he moved on. “Besides, they’re in fashion.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If you’ve ever heard of it.”

“Crowley, I happen to like this coat. If I find something I like, I treasure it, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The demon lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t hurt you to buy a new jacket once in a century or so.”

“Did you come up with those? Making people pay for things that are already ruined?”

“Of course not. Besides, your side came up with the slanket, you can’t point fingers.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “The slanket happens to be an incredibly comfortable, practical and considerate gift to humanity.”

“Oh, get off it. You know just as well as I do it’s a contraception device and a trap to keep people indoors instead of out with, what is it, undesirable influences?”

“That’s...that is, most definitely not, it’s…” The angel pulled his vest down with an air of affront. “What are you doing here, anyway? Besides flaunting those...atrocities in public?” He waved a hand in the direction of the ripped jeans. 

The demon hooked his fingers through the belt loops and weighed back on his feet. “Must I want something to come by?”

“You usually do.”

“Well, I don’t. I was in the neighbourhood. Though now I might take my offended jeans and walk out.”

The angel sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I...They surprised me, that is all.”

“Can’t all be as snappy a dresser as you, angel. In fact, I specifically asked for an ensemble all in beige corduroy but apparently _you’d_ bought it all up.”

“Oh, shush.”

Pleased with the annoyed reaction, Crowley fell back on the dumpy couch, long legs over the arm. “But now that I’m here...Drink?”


End file.
